


Sometimes family is whatever the fuck that was

by b00mgh



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Carlos Reyes panics, Carlos is a Good Boyfriend, F/M, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, as a treat, as best as he fucking can, bc i am HURTING, owen strand remains calm, readers can have a little angst, s1e08: Monster Inside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b00mgh/pseuds/b00mgh
Summary: aight y'all here is me using my one (1) good coping mechanism and writing angst to express my feelies, and then escaping on my heelies. pretty much it's post episode 8 (i will not spoil this for those that have not seen it, and the tags are vague enough not to as well) and mah bois are gay and mah squad is loving and mah god is good lmao. enjoy?? idfk.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand, Grace Ryder/Judd Ryder (9-1-1 Lone Star)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 188





	Sometimes family is whatever the fuck that was

TK got shot. They all saw it. Eight-year-old grabbed his grandpa’s gun and he got scared and he shot TK in the chest on accident. On accident. It should help to know that it wasn’t on purpose. But it doesn’t. He’s still in the hospital. Still not awake. Still breathing with a lung the doctors had to stitch together and then come out and have the audacity to tell the team  _ He almost didn’t _ … 

Mateo’s been crying for half an hour now. Paul’s got his head in his hands like he can’t handle being able to see. Grace has come in– she was the one that took the call! she watched it all unfold from the start!– and she’s sitting next to Judd, half trying to get him to pray and half trying to keep him from remembering how it feels to lose your team. Cap’s still sitting in there with his son, talking a little, trying to laugh– Marjan has to admire the strength in that. She’s trying to be strong. They’ve all been here for six hours now, and she’s got coffee to keep everyone up and ready. If TK wakes up, she wants his family to be the first people he sees. 

Paul sees Carlos Reyes walk into the room and reads him like a book. Stress, regret, failure, grief, anxiety, all of it tangles together into a map in the creases of his face that he does his best to hide behind a mask of reliability. Paul knows how stable Carlos is, how dependable. Paul also knows that Carlos will throw his whole heart at something and take the rejection with the same equanimity as the reciprocation. This is neither, this is loss, grief before death; this is fear, and it is unavoidable. But Paul doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to read Carlos’s pain, he just wants to be left alone to feel his own. He just wants to sip at the coffee Marjan brought and hide his head in his hands so he doesn’t have to see everything that he sees. 

Carlos approaches the door too quickly, doesn’t notice Captain Strand already occupying the bedside chair fast enough. He isn’t thinking very clearly, he supposes, but Captain Owen Strand stands and turns and sees Carlos and he pats him on the shoulder. He won’t take Carlos’s apology and he won’t sit back down in the bedside chair. As ever, the man is a freight train, even while he wanders downstairs to find the chapel. He tells Carlos to stay: “if I were him,” he said, “I’d want you here.” Maybe the Captain can see in Carlos’s eyes that he hasn’t cried since he got back from reuniting that lady with her husband and Michelle looked like hell and he asked her “bad shift?” and she looked at him funny and said “they didn’t tell you yet?” and he said “no I just got back, what happened?” and she had to sit him down and explain how an eight-year-old had shot TK– she doesn’t tell him about how she’d had to use a respirator to get him to the hospital where they had to ventilate him during surgery him because there wasn’t sufficient bloodflow to the brain and nobody was sure if he’d wake up fine or with severe brain damage or memory loss or what. But she tells him that the doctors already fixed his collapsed lung, and that’s almost the same thing.

“Hey, TK,” he whispers to a pair of hands folded on top of the bedsheets, “they tell me you’re still sleeping off the last of the surgery drugs. Those really punch you in the face, huh?” 

Of course, there’s no response. 

“But they said you might wake up soon, if–…” he trails off, tries again, “I know there’s other people you probably wanna see, but–” Carlos can’t finish the sentence, any sentence. Can’t say it. Can’t admit out loud that “I just really wanted to see that you’re alive, TK,” without his face hiding itself in the pressed linen of the hospital sheets, without his hands instinctively reaching out to grab TK’s and wrapping them up like he could protect just this one hand from what happened. But it  _ has _ happened already. He can’t stop it because that eight-year-old already twitched and fired the bullet and got let off with a self-defense plea because Captain Strand– even while his son was in the operating theater– was level-headed enough to tell the deputy that he didn’t want a kid going to prison for an accident like that. An accident– like the fact that it was an accident makes this any better! 

Carlos is sobbing into a growing wet spot in the now-slightly-off-white hospital sheets, and he feels the faintest pressure on his palm. If he didn’t know Michelle so well, he might have written it off as his imagination, but he spends  _ way _ too much time with Michelle, so he know all about “that one guy who just barely wiggled his finger, and his family decided to keep the life support on for another week, and he  _ lived _ , it was  _ wild _ , Carlos,” and that other guy “who we thought was dead his pulse was so weak, but he kicked my heel and I realized my captain at the time hadn’t checked his airway and then–” and all sorts of other stories, so Carlos stops mid-sob and sits straight up and doesn’t move his hand and he listens close. 

That faint pressure, just a butterfly’s kiss of pressure, stays on Carlos’s palm, and he can see TK’s lips moving, just a little, through blurry, teary vision. He has to lean in close to hear: “Dad?”

And  _ holy fucking shit _ Carlos doesn’t even care that it isn’t him who’s being called, he’s just glad TK has the strength to call out for  _ anyone _ – and he doesn’t think, again, he just sprints out of the room and says “ _ GRACE. TK. LOOK. _ ” because Carlos trusts Grace to know what he’s talking about (even if he doesn’t know her as well as, say, Michelle or Paul) and to be calmer about it than he is. Carlos sprints to the main floor of the hospital, across the lobby, and into the chapel to find both captains speaking quietly like the topic is an important one. Doesn’t care  _ at all _ what he’s interrupted because this takes precedence over everything else,  _ literally _ .

“Carlos?” Michelle’s soft voice probes.

But Captain Strand knows where Carlos was sitting not ten minutes before, and he stands right up and braces himself for the worst because what he sees is Carlos with red-rimmed eyes and a terrified expression sprinting around a hospital instead of sitting next to his (boy?)friend. 

“H-he-he’s up!” Carlos yelps, “TK. He’s up. And he’s asking for you– kind of!?”

Captain Strand does not respond, or show any sign of having heard Carlos, until he has ran all the way back to TK’s hospital room, past a  _ very _ concerned 126 fire crew, and right up to TK’s bedside. Grace has been giving him ice chips, one at a time, from a little paper cup. 

“TK? Tyler?” Captain Strand murmurs, “I’m right here, buddy.” By now, Carlos has caught up to Captain Strand, and Michelle is exchanging confused gestures with the rest of the 126.

TK creaks his eyes open, just a little, and then shuts them again. He’s still pretty out of it. “Dad?” he croaks, “Did I do it again?”

Neither Carlos nor Grace has any clue what he’s talking about, and Grace has the sense to know that she’s hearing something she shouldn’t, and she steps out of the room to tell everyone that TK’s alright, he’s awake, he’s just really strung out from the anesthesia, which Michelle then rattles off all of the symptoms of until Paul reminds her to calm down. 

Inside the room, Captain Strand whispers, “No, not this time. You’re here because you got hurt, remember?”

Carlos has to commend the captain for his steadfastness. He can tell that the man is falling apart a little bit in the hoarseness of his voice– but there’s more of him put together than most people would be able to have in this situation. 

TK tries to blink again, but gets no further than he did last time, and his eyes sink shut again. “When was that?” he asks. One of the symptoms Michelle is rattling off in the waiting room is an inconsistent memory. 

“Earlier today. We went on a call, and a little kid had a trigger finger.”

TK considers this carefully, and then relaxes more fully into the bed. Carlos is beginning to see how Captain Strand can be so composed: it keeps TK calm when his dad is unphased. He’s composed because he needs to be.

“Where is everyone?” TK wonders, voice already drifting back towards sleep.

“They’re right outside the door, TK, they wanted to make sure you were okay. Grace and Michelle came too. Mateo’s still crying–”

“That’s just like him,” TK interjects.

“– I think Judd’s going to join him soon–”

“Dad.”

“– Even Paul’s getting emotional–”

“Dad, are you tryin’ t’ guilt trip me into healing faster?” TK’s words are slurred, but he’s smiling a little.

Captain Strand chuckles, “Guilty.” 

Carlos realizes he should go. TK and Captain Strand are family, he’s already intruded too long. TK is ok. He’s alive. That’s what matters. Carlos knows he’s okay, knows he’s alive, and he can go home now. Or, at least, to the waiting room. 

He doesn’t even make it to the door before Captain Strand motions him back, “No, come sit down, Carlos.”

At which TK’s eyes fly wide open and his body flinches at itself when he tries to sit up and he wheezes horribly as he cries “Carlos!?”

“I’m here!” Carlos replies. He’s instantly right back next to TK, hands wrapped around his, leaning close and murmuring “I’m right here, it’s alright. Calm down, TK. You’re alright.”

“Carlos? You came?” TK breathes, “Dad, is he really here?”

Captain Strand smiles in that knowing way parents do. “Yeah, he is. But I’m gonna go fill the team in on your condition.” He winks at Carlos– his son is in the hospital and he thinks it’s a good time to wink!?– and says “You two have about five minutes before Marjan breaks the door down and gets her first write-up at the 126.” And he shuts the door behind him, and Carlos tunes out the animated scene visible through the observation glass of the waiting room. 

“Carlos?” TK whispers, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re in the hospital, TK, of course I’m here.”

TK has the absolute audacity to flash a sardonic smile– this one has less self-loathing than usual because TK is almost asleep with whichever specific anesthetic they used– and mutter, “Not everyone comes to the hospital for their boyfriend.”

“Uh, yeah, they do.” Carlos laughs, kind of hysterically, and runs a hand through his hair, kind of anxiously. “If you’ve had a boyfriend who  _ didn’t _ visit you in the hospital, I will genuinely arrest someone,” he quips.

That gets a more real laugh out of TK, a tiny one inhibited by a punctured lung, but the thought is there. “What would you even be arresting him for?”

With an absolutely serious expression, Carlos deadpans, “Child abandonment.”

“Are you calling me a child?” TK mumbles, “That’s not very nice, Carlos.” He’s still smiling though.

Their five minutes (it was actually three and a half. Marjan is not a patient woman) is up now though, and Marjan does not kick the door in, but she does enter the room. She does her best to be quiet, but it’s Marjan, so. 

“Sorry, I know you guys are having your cute little moment,” she whispers, “but that’s our brother and I don’t think Judd’s going to stop looking like he’s seeing the dead walk the halls until he’s seen TK.” Translated:  _ I am worried about TK and we all want to make sure he’s okay. _

So the whole team of the 126 crowds into the room. Michelle and Grace wait outside, because they’re worried, yeah, but not like  _ that _ . 

“TK!” Mateo cries, “You’re awake! Does it hurt?”

“Of course it hurts, he’s been shot,” Paul huffs. 

Judd’s eyes are, in fact, wet, but he sniffs and puts on a brave face and laughs. “Well, TK’s a tough kid. He handled bein’ crushed by a grain silo and that’s more likely to kill ya then a tiny bullet.”

“Sorry guys,” TK coughs, “didn’t mean to get shot.” Everyone mistakes it for a strangled joke, but Carlos squeezes TK’s hand tighter anyway. 

“Just don’t let it happen again,” Captain Strand commands. 

TK smirks, “That would be the goal, Dad.”

The doctor coming to check on TK has a hard time getting through Michelle– who is pestering him with as many questions as she can think of about different medical procedures– and Grace– who is implementing her dispatch training to keep him talking as much as she can. Both women are trying to give the team more time before the doctor inevitably shoos them all out of the room for being “too loud/energetic/excitable/hovering/alive,” but he’s a good doctor, so he’s run similar gamuts before, and he eventually weaves past them and squeezes into TK’s hospital room.

Everyone immediately shushes. 

“Tyler, was it?”

TK hasn’t been talking too much, but his voice is exhausted and slurring and hoarse and  _ happy _ when he says, “Call me TK, doc.”

Dr. Soo-Ling smiles– he’s got good bedside manner, he’s been told, which is why his next sentence is stated loud enough for everyone to hear. “Alright, TK. You’re out of the woods. Should make a full recovery. But we’re keeping you here under observation for a while until we’re sure that suture in your lung has healed properly.”

“I don’ gotta do chemo?” TK slurs– clearly, this is the medication talking. His consciousness is starting to slip. 

With an expression distorting with befuddlement, Dr. Soo-Ling replies, “No, you won’t have to do chemo, TK. That’s not a procedure we typically offer for bullet wounds.”

“Aight, cool,” TK sighs. He sinks deeper into the bed.

Now the doctor addresses everyone else. “It looks like TK is tuckered out,” his eyes gesture pointedly to how TK is almost asleep already, “I’d like to politely ask that only family members remain in the room.”

“We’re his family,” Mateo blurts.

Dr. Soo-Ling raises an eyebrow. “All of you?” His eyes scan Owen Strand, Judd, Mateo, Paul, Marjan, Carlos. 

“Yeah, all of us,” Marjan confirms. Her voice is firm and her eyes flash. 

Paul doesn’t want to be that confrontational unless he has to, but he crosses his arms and nods his own support. Judd follows that lead. Captain Strand shrugs. Carlos is still too busy holding TK’s hand to reply. 

Three heavy seconds pass, and Dr. Soo-Ling lets them and he says “Alright then” and he goes to check on his next patient– a drunk man who bit off half of his top knuckle (he’ll also be fine, provided he stops drinking himself that stupid). Who is he to judge? Sometimes a family isn’t a mom, a dad, and a kid. Sometimes a family is whatever the fuck kind of collection of people Dr. Soo-Ling just saw in that room. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed this. written in about 2 hours total so i mean i think it hits
> 
> Scream at me in the comments, nothing brings me more joy!


End file.
